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Waking up had become more and more of a chore over the past tenday. Each sunrise greeted Gale with joints that felt just a little stiffer, muscles that felt a little sorer, and a body that felt, overall, a little worse. And ever since they entered those damned Shadow-Cursed Lands, the cold had settled into him and exacerbated it all.
Hungry shadows licked at the edges of their pixie-blessed radii and seemed to delight in playing tricks on their eyes. Everyone in camp had been decidedly more on edge since entering, and the discovery of the Last Light Inn was a boon that could not be overstated. Unfortunately, the nature of their adventuring prevented them from making use of its wonderful beds (mattresses! in bed frames, even!) and required the party to rest in less than ideal circumstances.
The campsite managed to be charming despite everything, with its abundance of torches and warm red grasses, but that warmth did not, unfortunately, extend into the air. For the others, this bone creeping cold seemed an annoyance, occasionally uncomfortable but not debilitating, but for Gale it was, quite regrettably, the bane of his fucking existence. Just a little bit.
He had taken to beginning his days with simple stretches, paying extra attention to his wrists and hands as without them he was largely useless in spellcasting and general camp duties. It had not been an officially decided rule, but after watching the others fumble around trying to make one portion meals for themselves, Gale had quickly taken on the role of chef. Cooking was remarkably therapeutic for him even when certain tieflings tried to nibble on his dinners before they were ready.
(Karlach had been somewhat convinced in the beginning that even if meat was slightly undercooked, she could eat it and her body would cook it the rest of the way. One rather haunting display with a mostly raw chicken thigh and a terrible evening had disproven the notion entirely, although Gale could not fault her entirely for trying to find some benefit to the bomb in her chest. Gods knew he was doing the same.)
While he went through rotating his hands and gently stretching them forwards and backwards, arms straight yet not stiff, he reviewed the camp supplies and tried to determine what had to be eaten that night versus what could last for another while. A particularly bright burst of flame down his right digitorum superficalis and carpi ulnaris distracted him from his musings and he hissed quietly, rapidly shaking his hand to dispel the lingering pain.
Sighing heavily, Gale levered himself off the hard earth and mentally patted himself on the back when he didn’t reflexively groan.
One of the few good things about there being no sun, he thought as he strode outside, was that he didn’t wince in opening his tent flap in the mornings. A paltry positive, but a spot of silver nonetheless.
Gale began gathering his supplies for the day and meditated over his spellbook to prepare spells for whatever eventuality they encountered, so long as that eventuality was something that could be blown up by fireball. He settled on a patch of strangely soft red grass; when they had first entered the area, he had expected the grass to be dead. But, in some strange perversion of the natural order, it grew in abundance in the middle of blighted land.
It had been a pain to cast any higher level spells recently, despite the orb’s stabilization and, though he had no real evidence to substantiate it, Gale suspected that the shadow curse was reacting to the orb and making it hungrier for his mana and energy. He could have sworn he’d seen the orb pulse weakly the other night when they passed through a particularly thick swathe of shadow, but his tired eyes and paranoid mind may have been playing tricks.
Something told him he wasn’t imagining it.
He shook himself from his rapidly darkening thoughts and spread his spellbook open gently with one hand while his other unfastened his component pouch. There would be time yet before the others rose, so he felt comfortable spreading out the vials of guano, water, and glass next to his bundles of lightning struck twigs and iron rods. He was running low on a number of components he mused, subconsciously rubbing at his lower lip. Careful review of the verbal and somatic elements of the spells he’d chosen easily occupied his mind and Gale found that he was slowly relaxing in the strange grey light that permeated the Shadow-Cursed Lands.
In the morning everyone largely prepared their own meals, although Gale made an effort to put on a large pot of plain porridge. Cooking for others was far easier than cooking for himself and he had jumped at the chance to flex those muscles after a year of infrequent, bland meals eaten only when Tara cajoled him. At the end of the day, when he was all but useless with no more energy for spells nor walking, the least he could do was fix dinner for his more capable companions. And, he would admit readily, he did truly enjoy feeding the people he cared about; some holdover from Morena, he was sure. His mother really loved to host and feed guests; Gale on the other hand had struggled endlessly with the unspoken rules of hospitality.
Watching the camp slowly rouse was one of his largest joys.
Both Lae’zel and Shadowheart began the day with meditation, ironically paralleled for all their supposed differences. Gale would not be surprised to one day see them emerge from the same tent. Their quiet companionship was prolonged by Halsin who was often awake already by the time Gale exited his tent. Elves and their trances.
Eventually, the two women would move on; Shadowheart often joined Gale by the fire and Lae’zel began training.
Other times, Shadowheart would go and try to piss Lae’zel off enough that they would spar together and create some intricate form of courting he could not fathom. Today, he thought as he watched Shadowheart abruptly turn towards Lae’zel’s tent, seemed like one of those days. The thudding of a sword upon straw stopped and was replaced by Shadowheart’s patented “I’m going to annoy you” voice. He heard Lae’zel’s rasp soon after, rapidly growing more heated and vicious until the sound of blows landing replaced their voices.
Wyll hilariously enough was assuredly not a morning person. Once he had fully woken up he was well and chipper once more, but for the first hour or so it was like talking to a spectator victim. Him and Astarion tended to wake or appear in tandem, although Gale suspected Astarion, too, lay awake for hours each morning contemplating gods know what. Perhaps plotting. He seemed the type, although Gale could not think of a specific plot at this moment in time.
By the time Karlach stretched loudly and began clattering around, the food was finished and most of the others were well onto their second servings. Their accidental leader appeared out of nowhere, holding a hand up to block even the meager light.
“Good morning everyone!” they said cheerfully, completing the loose circle around the fire pit and happily throwing their legs out as they sat. For once they were not covered in leaves and sticks
A general chorus of hellos sounded with varying levels of enthusiasm, and Gale passed Tav a bowl of porridge. A few moments of silence, disturbed only by the wind in the trees (for there was little to no wildlife here), until Karlach leaned over to poke Shadowheart in the side.
“Anyone want to come watch me kick Shadowheart’s ass?” The half-elf in question made an indignant noise, although she was smiling. “What! You said you wanted to wrestle with me, didn’t you?”
“Oh is that what we’re calling it now?” Wyll said into his coffee. He sighed heavily, although the faint smile on his face betrayed his act. “I suppose someone should supervise, and I’m certainly not busy.” Karlach cheered loudly and Wyll waved a hand, seemingly embarrassed.
Not very subtly, Shadowheart looked to Lae’zel.
Lae’zel for her part, was already looking between Shadowheart and Karlach the way a displacer beast watched an unaware stag. Gale didn’t even want to touch that. Not this early.
“I will join as well. I’m sure the Sharran’s… form,” here her eyes trailed slowly down Shadowheart’s body, and Gale resisted the urge to cover his eyes, “could use correcting.”
The four departed in a merry clump and Gale smiled softly to himself. An empty bowl appeared before his eyes and he startled, nearly spilling his breakfast on the dark earth.
“Tav!”
They grinned, utterly without remorse. “Could I have some more please, master wizard?”
“Well normally I would be happy to oblige, but for whatever reason I’m feeling uncharitable all of a sudden.”
“Aw, come on, man. I won’t do it again!” They absolutely would do it again. Tav loved screwing with him. Unfortunately Gale was a weak man and this motley crew had wormed their way into his heart, so he took their bowl. Also, they had started chanting “please” over and over and it was disturbing his lovely morning.
“Alright, if you insist,” he laughed. They beamed at him as he gave them a healthy serving and he reached out to pass their bowl back.
As he did so, however, something pinched in his wrist and he sucked in a sharp breath. The bowl, which had previously been no problem to hold, suddenly felt as though it weighed more than a frost giant and his hand shook uncontrollably. Practically dropping the bowl into Tav’s hand, he pulled back quickly, flexing his hand at his side in an attempt to dispel the pins and needles-like burning that was flowing up and down his forearm.
Tav shot him a look, mirth momentarily gone from their face, but he smiled winningly and shrugged. In a rare moment, Gale was thankful for Astarion, who quickly pulled them into conversation which he easily tuned out.
He stared down at his hand, noting the way it trembled, resisting his attempts to uncurl it fully. Why now? The day had only just started, he couldn’t afford to operate at anything less than perfect. Not so soon. They’d leave him behind if he couldn’t perform.
Not in the wilderness anymore, no, he was not so deluded as to think that they cared that little for him (not to mention the kinder members of the party would have an absolute fit), but they’d make him stay at camp, or the Last Light Inn, and then suddenly they would move on and he wouldn’t be there. All because of a silly little pain.
Something poked him in the knee.
“Gale?” Tav asked in a tone that suggested they’d asked him something before.
“Hm? Oh, my apologies, could you repeat that?”
“I was asking if you would be ok to join us today?”
Gale looked at them with, hopefully, concealed suspicion. He thought they had interpreted his glance properly but apparently they were going to bring it up in front of everyone. But why?
“Yes, I should be perfectly capable.”
Their frown deepened slightly. “Well that’s not— ok. Sure. Cool.”
Astarion, ever the shit stirrer, chose this moment to lean into Gale’s space looking him over with mock concern.
“Why would our darling wizard not be ok?”
Gale leveled him with a perfectly flat expression. Normally he enjoyed sniping at the vampire, but his heart wasn’t in it today, and he certainly was not about to tell the truth. Astarion may have been a starving man in his past, but it was an entirely different kind of hunger, and he had already shown his disdain for Gale’s follies. He doubted he would find sympathy there.
“Tav is a worrywart. Nothing to concern yourself with,” Gale finally replied, waving his hand to dismiss the inquiry as though it were a cloud of gnats. Astarion’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly and Gale caught a flash of some strange expression flit across him in the purse of his lips and the tightening of his jaw.
“Ugh. Fine,” he sniffed. “But I want the record to show I tried to help.”
Tav sighed heavily and Gale snapped out of his lock on Astarion’s microexpressions to see them visibly age years at their antics.
“Whatever. Let’s head out in thirty, gods willing.”
The day had been shit and he had been positively worthless in their final struggle in the prisons of Moonrise, out of breath from even the simplest of cantrips. It felt nearly as bad as when the orb was eating his magic except now he could not even take the Weave from enchanted items to sate it. As they journeyed back out, the residents on the other floors blissfully unaware of the carnage below their feet, he fell towards the back of the pack.
They had convinced that drow woman to join them which was all well and noble (Tav and Wyll were damn near unstoppable when they were together), but it meant another portion he had to account for in his dinner making.
His thoughts grew darker the farther he lagged as his knees and lungs made their displeasure known. Really it would be alright if only it didn’t feel as though he had run kilometers and not walked sedately for a couple meters. He was almost tempted to beg a heal off of Shadowheart, but the Sharran had exerted herself heavily during the battle and it truly was not that bad. Not unusual at least.
Decades of study under the best wizards in Faerûn and tutelage from Mystra herself and now the mighty Gale of Waterdeep was felled by his own hubris and a blasted tadpole from space. His one bright spot of the day was Tav eagerly asking if he could make “that squash dish, with the beef and the apples that was so yummy”. It was nice to reassure himself that he could still be needed beyond his arcane prowess. Even if “chef” was a tenuous and easily disposable role in an adventuring party.
No matter.
As their campground came into view Gale breathed a sigh of relief. And then he breathed another, heavier sigh as his lungs strained to get air into his body. He ignored his tired bones and the mildly worrisome blackness crowding his vision to drop his pack in front of his tent.
Slipping inside was utter bliss.
Finally away from prying eyes, he allowed himself to hunch over, hands pressed to his head, while he fought back tears of frustration and exhaustion. He used to be something miraculous. A generational talent. Perhaps even a centennial talent. According to Mystra, he was one of the greatest wizards she’d ever taught. As they often did now, thoughts of his former lover sent a pang through his chest. He’d long since given up trying to decipher if they were from the orb or his broken heart. Perhaps they were one in the same.
He laughed softly and tried to pretend he didn’t want to keen instead. Five minutes. He would allow five minutes to be pathetic before making dinner. The sounds of the others taking off their armor, Scratch and Bite playing, and quiet conversation soothed him. He wished desperately for night when he could watch firelight dance across his canvas ceiling, the blue deepening into a facsimile of the astral plane where him and his goddess spent so much time.
Alas, there were hungry mouths to feed. And one more than he was used to , he thought sorrowfully.
Squash was simple at least. There was a tension in his muscles that had slowly grown over the course of the day and he dreaded the thought of another meal that required more prep time. Probably the damned cold making him shiver minutely. It seemed inescapable sometimes.
His five minutes were up.
Making his way determinedly towards their communal camp supply chest, he pulled out the necessary butternut squash and apples, giving the latter a quick sniff to ensure their ripeness. Normally he would combine a tart apple breed with a sweeter one for more contrast, but pickings were rather slim in this wretched place. He cleared a large flat stone near the fire and began preparing his ingredients.
Despite the hell of their situation, Gale fell into the meditative motions of chopping apples and mincing a large cut of beef rather quickly. It was a delicate balance to achieve between mindless rote tasks and activities that took just enough effort so as not to let his mind wander. Camp sounds faded to background noise as he lost himself to watching the flames while the squash roasted.
A quiet rustle behind him was all the notice he got before something very heavy and hot thudded onto his back.
Gale froze even as his mind caught up (muscles, a brush of keratin on his neck, the smallest whiff of sulfur) to the fact that their resident tiefling (did Wyll count? An issue for another time) had just draped herself across him.
There were a few moments of still silence before Karlach stiffened as well and began pulling back.
“Sorry, soldier. You just— well. You seemed a bit sad, and I’m kind of new to this whole touching people thing, or not new per se, I had a life of course,” a nervous laugh, “but well, relearning, I suppose.”
Gale forced his muscles to unstick and turned his head to look Karlach in her eyes. A monumental mistake. She looked absolutely devastated.
“Entirely understandable, my fiery friend. I imagine it must have been quite difficult to shirk contact for reasons not your own, especially in a situation as stressful as Avernus.” Unlike his own self-imposed exile, he did not say.
“Well, yeah, but I mean it’s not that bad I just, you know, think about it all the time and it fucking sucks, but I know you all aren’t very touchy. I’m really sorry it was instinctive, and I won’t do it again,” she said with an expression similar to Tara’s when she was begging for an extra piece of fish. In other words, Gale immediately softened.
“Nothing to worry about, truly.” And it wasn’t, now that he thought about it. It had been nice to feel someone’s heat, as even with Mystra their dalliances tended towards the incorporeal and before that, in school at both Blackstaff and before he had been rather reclusive.
“Right, I’ll just… go and sit over there then,” Karlach hooked a thumb towards one of the nearby twisted trees.
Gale’s mind was still stuttering along a few seconds behind, drowning in the warmth and made simple with desire.
“Karlach, wait!” he jerked a hand towards her and flinched when his elbow twinged, stopping him with his arm awkwardly outstretched. Quickly now, he urged himself, say something. Anything to stop his companion from looking so upset and uncomfortable. He took a deep breath and wondered why his heart was beating as hard as it did before they entered a fight where they were vastly outnumbered.
A shiver forced its way through him and he remembered how lovely those moments with Karlach draped over him had been. Silence had dragged on long enough to be deeply awkward, but she stood there quiet, for once, stricken and hopeful in anticipation of his words. He thought, at least. She was often easier for him to read than the others, but Gale was, generally speaking, absolutely terrible at understanding people. Reigning his thoughts back into the matter at hand he shifted nervously.
“You don’t have to leave. It was… nice. If you would like you… well. Maybe you could… keep doing that while we wait for the squash to finish?” He ground the words out through resistant teeth.
The way her face lit up, tail thrashing gently in excitement (he was pretty sure), was enough to justify this moment of selfishness. It was not just for him. She needed this as well.
“If you insist, soldier!” she said, approaching him once more.
Very slowly she hooked her head over his shoulder and, after a pause, wrapped her arms around Gale’s waist.
Moments passed and some indescribable emotion welled up in him as his muscles loosened bit by bit from her pressure and warmth. It felt so good he didn’t know what to do. Did she expect him to hug her back? He wasn’t sure he could, even if he hadn’t been technically making dinner (he had finished chopping ingredients a little while ago).
It was all very overwhelming and grounding in a way Gale was pretty sure he enjoyed but that bordered on too… present. How long had it been since he had enjoyed this physical closeness without the expectation of something more to follow? Certainly with Mystra their meetings had involved discussion and teaching, but there was a good deal of sex that happened any time they were corporeal near each other. He had Tara but, while an amazing friend, she was fundamentally ten pounds and also a tressym.
Firelight dried his eyes, making them water slightly, as he felt Karlach bury her face further into his neck. He tried not to scare her off but he knew he was tensing and relaxing over and over. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable for her, but he could hardly stop it.
She was nearly the exact temperature as a bed with a warming pan and it was a balm on his sore muscles. Yet his brain could not relax fully, taking in so much sensory information it nearly overloaded him.
He pulled away suddenly to sit with his back against a nearby log.
Karlach followed uncertainly, an unspoken question in the tilt of her head.
“Yes, you’re fine. I’m fine. The squash needs another hour at least and it seemed silly to stand all that while. But you— you can come here again. If you’d like.”
“That sounds lovely.” She laughed slightly as she sat next to him and immediately put her head on his shoulder. “It’s funny. I knew I’d missed this, missed being close to those I love without hurting them, but I hadn’t realized just how nice it would feel. I’m a hugger, you know.”
“I gathered that, yes,” Gale responded dryly, ignoring the way his heart squeezed at the word love. “I, too, have not… had many opportunities recently to hug my friends.” Nor many friends to hug in the past decade or so.
“Well, this seems like a wonderful arrangement, then,” and she wrapped her arms around him so she could lay more fully across his chest. A strange fragileness filled him at the sight of her, so young and so scarred and far too good to have deserved any of it.
Gingerly he rested his hand across her shoulders. “Yes. It really does.”
Gale was wonderfully cozy. It must have been deep winter in Waterdeep for there was the susurration of the wind outside and he had his heavy blanket over him, weighing him down into the bed. Although that was far less comfortable than he remembered. While he struggled to rally his thoughts, the faint noises resolved into words, not wind.
“Should we… wake them?”
“Oh no, darling, they look perfectly happy as they are.”
“I suppose they do seem restful.”
Suddenly the blanket shifted and something jabbed into his diaphragm. Gale grunted softly and quickly woke up the rest of the way.
When he opened his eyes all he saw was a sliver of grey sky and a lot of wiry black hair.
A new voice cooed softly. Probably Tav. Gale held back a sigh and let his eyes close again. He could take five more minutes surely.